


Times, Measures

by geoclaire



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: All the wee fans should avert their eyes okay, Basically if you have sexually related triggers you shouldn't read this mmk, Coercion, Consent Play, Dubious Consent, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Play might not be the right word, catatonic laura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoclaire/pseuds/geoclaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla doesn't deal well with Laura's catatonia. </p><p>Where the ends may justify the means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Times, Measures

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from Some Nights, so have some emotionally intense filth. Thank you to b-ellatores for beta work, and monovosa for extremely late night jetlagged conversations on Carmilla's relationship with violence. 
> 
> Last warning: this goes dark places. Persons with triggers should go elsewhere.

She wishes, more than for most things, for a bed. That might bring some comfort, some gentleness, perhaps even some class to this.

Instead, she's again scooped Laura off the floor only to pin her to the surface of a desk she keeps pretending to not recognise.

"This again, creampuff?" She asks conversationally. It's a moment's work to pull off Laura’s shoes, still unlaced from the last time, and to reach to unzip her jeans. "You know that I dislike being ignored." The jeans come off with minimal pulling; Laura’s lost still more weight. "You know what I'm going to do to you."

Laura’s face is slack, her eyes glassy when Carmilla looks up into her. A pang strikes her, but she shrugs it away. Laura’s absence is the whole problem. It's the whole point.

The first time she'd lost her patience, dragged Laura onto this table and pulled her clothes off, it had been because she couldn’t stand that vacancy in her features any more. Kindness and teasing, orders and outright bullying hadn't worked, so she'd tried insistent physical sensation instead. She'd gone down on Laura for a half hour before she was wet enough that Carmilla felt she could put her fingers in her without tearing her.

Now, she responds more quickly. When Carmilla passes her fingers quickly between Laura’s legs, there's dampness already collecting inside her underwear. She bites inside her cheek in silent relief and then stares obviously, lasciviously, between Laura’s legs. She smirks. "Oh, you do know what I'm going to do to you. Good, that'll make this easier."

She hazards another look into Laura’s face, and finds she's making eye contact now. Her eyes are troubled and distant, and she's yet to make a sound, but it's progress. Carmilla gives the softest exhale, and reaches to pull off Laura’s shirt. She's pleased when Laura raises her shoulders to help her, the soft cotton lifting her pretty hair over her head and then letting it drop in a gentle waterfall over both of their shoulders. Her bra comes off easily, only hindered by their heightened proximity.

When it’s off, Carmilla trails her fingers down both sides of Laura’s back. From the points of her fine boned shoulders to the dip of her waist, teasing awake every sensitive nerve ending along the way. Goosebumps rise in her wake and she smiles, knowing it's hidden against Laura’s shoulder.

From there, her hands slip to Laura’s hips. They sit lightly on the cotton waistband, her nails just pricking at the underside of the elastic. Carmilla doesn't need to look to picture the purple print of them, she’s seen it a half dozen times in four days. Every time Laura’s gaze has slipped from the middle distance and into oblivion, every time she's stopped responding to speech. One time, when she'd sat silently crying for longer than Carmilla could bear - an hour or so, probably,  but it seemed a lot longer when Laura’s cheeks were streaked with tears and she wouldn’t meet Carmilla’s eyes.

She strokes her thumbs over the material, slow movements that are not at all soothing. She knows Laura's sensitive here, that ghosting her fingertips over Laura's hips will have the same effect on her as stroking another woman's inner thigh. Laura twitches the second time she does it, and she leans in a little closer, skimming her nose along the length of Laura's neck.

"Still with me, cupcake?" She teases, and strokes her thumbs again, harder this time. Laura jumps again, and she hums with satisfaction. Laura has been slipping in and out of a kind of greylands, a borderground between shock and catatonia and grief, but Carmilla is reeling her back in, hand over hand, one sensation at a time. She runs her nose into the soft spot below Laura's jaw, the hollow that smells sweet no matter what Laura's been up to, and inhales.

She can smell Laura's blood beneath the skin. Laura's heartbeat is thready and erratic, and her blood pressure lower than it should be - dehydration takes its toll in the dry air of the library - but she smells delicious.

Carmilla tells her so. "Your blood smells delightful, petal. Would you care to share?" And she expects Laura to jerk away from her, pull away from her teeth - she's baiting her - but Laura holds still, instead. And not the limp and indifferent stillness that has been her earmark of late; no, she's holding herself tensely upright. She doesn't lean in or pull away.

Interesting.

"I think you'd like that, hmmm?" She hums, and grazes her teeth over Laura's fine skin, spread thin over the artery Carmilla can smell. She pulls away with effort. "Maybe later, creampuff. Once you remember how to use your words."

She lets one hand trail from Laura's hip, her thumb just caressing the skin of her upper thigh. "And I know far better places to drink from."

Laura's swift inhale is unmistakable, her chin jerking down to meet Carmilla's eyes now. A second more, and the familiar smell of her arousal hits Carmilla, thick and distinct. She smiles a dirty smile, leering obviously as she breaks their gaze and rolls her eyes lazily down Laura's body.

"I see you’d like that." She smirks. The hand she has on Laura's thigh begins to make lazy circles, a light touch brushing skin from her thigh to her kneecap, hipbone to the hemmed edge of her panty leg. "Maybe if you're very, very lucky, I’ll..." She trails off. Better to let Laura complete the fantasy.

"No."

The protest is soft, weak, wholly unconvincing. But it's also the first word Laura has said today, so Carmilla is counting it as a win. She slides her hand back up Laura's thigh, plucks roughly at the cotton directly in front of her clit with two fingers. "This doesn't seem like a no."

Laura doesn't even try to control her flinch when Camilla's thumb runs roughly over her clit, her hands going from loose and open to clutching the edge of the table. "It's a no," she says more firmly, and Carmilla hides her smile.

She takes an obnoxiously loud sniff. "Are you sure?" She asks.

Laura only stares at her in response, although Carmilla can see the blush that's started to form on her chest and cheeks. She likes it, likes knowing - seeing - that Laura is responding on more than a physiological level. That she's aware enough not just to respond, but to speak, and be conscious of something like embarrassment. She takes it as encouragement.

Her thumb slips over Laura's clit once more, then she's urging Laura off the edge of the desk and onto her feet. Laura comes willingly, half distracted by her own twitched response to the tease. Carmilla looks into her face and then slides her thumbs into the sides of Laura's panties, waits for the faintest of nods before she edges them down and drops them to ground. Laura steps out of them and Carmilla goes to her knees, her nose pressing into the crease at the top of Laura's thigh.

"But I so want to bite you, love," she says. Laura's scent is so strong here, both her arousal and her blood throbbing beneath the surface. Carmilla doesn't know which she wants to turn her face to more, the wetness gathering between Laura's legs or the femoral artery pounding blood in her upper thigh. She licks at the skin of Laura's thigh, her tongue picking up on both scents, and moans a little at the way Laura bucks into her.

"I said no." Laura says above her, and Carmilla ducks her head and licks once more before she comes to her feet.

"You did," Carmilla agrees, and then she takes Laura by the hips and turns her, pressing her face first to the table, not ungentle. "I'm just wondering how to believe it when you’re wetter every time I suggest I sink my teeth into your soft skin for your sweet blood."

Laura moans, and Carmilla knows that sound. She doesn't need to be between Laura's thighs to know she just pulsed with wetness, that she'd flood the panties she's no longer wearing. She knows that now Laura is properly with her, in the moment, and that resisting Carmilla has gotten her there.

"Wait, no," Laura says again, into the table this time, and Carmilla smirks.

"Is that what does it for you, sweetheart? Saying no?" She runs her fingers up the back of Laura's thighs, lets one hand settle onto Laura's lower back, holding her there. "What else would you say no to, hmmm?"

Laura doesn't respond, but she's breathing harder now, her mouth open where her head is turned to the side against the wood of the desk. Carmilla looks at her, at the sprawling mess she's made of her in minutes, and presses forward, hoping she's not also pressing her luck.

She leans her weight into the back of Laura's thighs now, and leans down so she's close enough to whisper, no sound lost. "We've never tried fisting," she murmurs, and Laura goes rigid beneath her.

"No - Carm, I can't -"

Carmilla ignores her, keeps talking like Laura hasn't said her name for the first time in days. "Would you like that? Seeing how much of my hand will fit inside you?" She brings a hand up between their faces, flexes and twists her fingers experimentally.  "I think you could take it, you do get very wet." She says conversationally, and Laura shudders beneath her, her hips pressing back into Carmilla.  "What do you think?"

She feels the deep breath Laura takes, her jaw clenching. "No fisting." She says.

Carmilla only hums in response, before she ducks down to take Laura’s earlobe between her teeth. This time Laura’s response is unequivocal: she moans low and deep, and Carmilla takes the excuse and traces the edge of her ear with her tongue.

"That's a hell of a moan for something you don't want, cupcake," she says softly. She takes the hand that has been tracing absent lines on Laura’s thigh and slides it inwards a little, caressing the crease at the base of her bottom and ending where soft curls begin to tease her fingertips. It's hard to know who the sharp inhale comes from when she touches wetness.

Carmilla never gets tired of this. She's three hundred years old and most worldly pleasures have greyed out for her, dulled with repetition and use. But not this, not touching Laura, not the way she shivers and moans and yearns. Never.

She knows the situation is well below ideal. She has never wanted to persuade her partners, and she's using sex to coerce Laura out of her incoherence. But this is the most effective way she's found to snap Laura back into the present, and baiting her has become the best tool yet.

"Are you sure?" She asks again, and it's meant to be a tease but it comes out sincere instead.

Laura’s hips press back against her again. "Yes," she says, and chokes it off because Carmilla has pressed two fingers inside her before she's finished.

Laura is hot enough to burn, tight but not constricting around her fingers, and Carmilla pumps a couple times before adding a third, remembering the first time she'd bent Laura over and taken her like this. It had been over the end of her mother's bed, Laura half undressed and Carmilla too impatient to wait. She hadn't warned Laura then, slid swiftly into her before Laura'd gotten her panties all the way off, and the noise Laura had made was near inhuman. She shudders at the memory of it, and Laura bucks against her now, her breathing wild.

"I think you're wet enough for it," Carmilla remembers to say, trying to pull back their previous conversation.  "I think you like thinking about my fingers inside you. "

"Shut up." Laura says, and Carmilla bites her own lip and slows down to punish her. She pulls her fingers back, swirling them lightly outside of Laura now. It only takes a few passes before Laura is groaning and bucking back against her, seeking more pressure.

"Carm, please," she pleads, and Carmilla notes her own name again and slows still further.

She wants to take Laura, fast and wet and messy, bent over the end of the table. She wants to make Laura beg and writhe and tighten like a bow, every tendon pulled rigid with the force of her orgasm. She wants to bury herself in Laura's body and scent and hair and sensations, but Laura is in the moment and paying attention and so Carmilla slows down to draw her in further.

The hand that she'd flexed to make Laura shudder slides down again, tracing the sweat slick muscles of Laura's back. Carmilla outines the hollows at the base of Laura's spine, then reaches further down to press Laura's legs further apart. The fingers she's been swirling, just barely penetrating Laura to make her squirm, she now strokes with more intent. Teasing every inch of her labia, but working progressively downward, and back.

Laura twists beneath her, her hips circling and trying to find purchase against Carmilla's fingers. But Carmilla's quick, and moves away each time Laura writhes against her, limiting the friction she can find. She strokes the back of Laura's thigh and buttock with her free hand, soothing her movement even as she aims to build her higher. And it's working. Laura is slicker with every caress of Carmilla's fingers between her legs, wetness collecting until it spills down her thighs. Even Carmilla's knuckles are sliding freely in the moisture that's collected, thick and hot between her thighs.

"Please," Laura says again, low and desperate, and Carmilla smiles and flicks her fingers hard and fast over Laura's clit. Laura jerks half up before Carmilla uses the hand on her behind to push her back down, resuming her languid strokes.

"Please what, cupcake?" She asks sweetly, her fingers never stopping their movement. She's touched every morsel of Laura's wet skin that she can now, circling her opening with smooth fingertips, caressing her folds, and now she slips a single finger lower, caressing the perineum and the skin between Laura's buttcheeks.

Even here, she's slick from the wetness that has poured out of her quim, and Carmilla makes the utmost of it, teasing her fingertip ever back.

"Not to biting, surely. And it was a no to fisting," she says pensively, her finger still stroking. She pauses, and then moves her finger one last half inch and presses softly on the ring of muscle. "Was it this you wanted, darling?"

Laura rears upright in a heartbeat, desperate and inarticulate and loud. "NoNOnogodCarm fuck me pleasePLEASE fuck me pleasefuckmefuckmefuckme."

Carmilla presses her down to the tabletop again and is inside her quim in a heartbeat. She thrusts three fingers in, pressing forward for more sensation on the first stroke, and she could fit four but for the way Laura's already quivering around her, every muscle twitching on the edge of a wholehearted spasm. She thrusts again, short and sharp, and reaches her hand around to press against Laura's lower belly. She can feel the ghost of her own thrusts shoving inside of Laura, and from there it’s a few more movements and Laura's grinding down and back against her before she comes with a choking, gasped cry.

Laura comes so hard that she shakes with it, a full body convulsion that sees her losing control of her legs. Carmilla's arm is already around her, pressing into her belly, and she catches Laura as she begins to fall, sliding awkwardly from the table to the floor. The hand between her legs comes away, wrapping around Laura and helping lower her even as it jerks another shudder from her.

They end up on the floor together, Laura sprawled between Carmilla's legs. She's still twitching a bit, but she's soft and her muscles are relaxed against Carmilla's torso.

Carmilla waits, letting her regain her thoughts and her bearings. In a moment Laura will be searching for her clothes, awkwardly avoiding Carmilla’s eyes and making half-hearted plans. It'll continue right til some too-blatant reminder of their situation comes up, when she'll start running down like a wind-up toy at the end of its spring.

Carmilla can't hold her - not now, not really - but her arms are still keeping Laura upright and she can feel most of her skin, smell her scent, pressed against her. And Laura's blissed out, halfway present, but she would trade this a thousand times over for the way Laura stares into space at the end of this depressed cycle. She closes her eyes.

Laura sighs, her ribcage moving against Carmilla's side, and shifts a bit. Carmilla loosens her hold on her, waiting for Laura to get up and walk away. Laura’s breath is easing, and Carmilla waits and nothing else happens. She opens her eyes.

Laura's twisted sideways in her arms, her head tilted back to look up into Carmilla's face. She's making eye contact.

"Hey." Laura says.

"… hey."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at geoclaire.tumblr.com, with some very different fic.


End file.
